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Dean really should have noticed sooner.
If had, he may have been able to put a lid on things before they got out of hand. Dean suspects it all began back when Cas's mind was turning bat-shit crazy and he kept spitting out facts about bees and monkeys, topics far more memorable than any random words of greeting he may or may not have given. Hell, Dean can't recall anything else from that one conversation featuring cat penises; he only wishes he could forget about male cats having thorny dicks, too.
But somewhere in there, it had started, and then it slowly spiraled out of control over time. Hell, the whole mess is probably Dean's own fault, like most things. It sounds like something he would do, either because he was too tense at the time and one of Cas's sudden arrivals caused him to snap. Or maybe Dean was just dicking around, poking fun at his favorite angel. Favorite because it's Cas, Castiel who pulled Dean out of Hell and rebelled against Heaven, Cas who's done so much for Dean and does more still. It is Cas. That's why he's Dean's favorite, no other reason.
Not to mention, all other angels are dicks.
Whatever his mindset at the time, Dean must have said something to Cas at one point. Something about his standard greeting of Hello, Dean in that flat but soft voice, the one Cas seemed to reserve solely for Dean. He must have mentioned it once, offhandedly said something like, That's getting old, buddy.
Because Dean hasn't heard that routine in a long while. Nope, not these days.
These days, Cas strolls into the bunker's kitchen while Dean is preparing dinner, nothing too fancy just steak and potatoes, but Cas slides his hips right alongside Dean's in front of the stove and says, “What's cooking, good-looking?”
Of course, Cas being Cas, he pronounces the -ings and all, making the line sound less like a flirtation, and more like a bad attempt at understanding humanity.
Stirring the potatoes, Dean shoots him a look.
“Did you get onto the internet again? I told Sam not to leave you unsupervised.”
Cas hmms, not in agreement, just hmms at the inference. Deans takes this to mean the angel has spent the last few hours watching nothing but stupid cat videos and Minecraft tutorials on YouTube.
Dean rolls his eyes, returning to Cas's original question. “It's sirloin steak with garlic butter and roasted potatoes, obviously. You sticking around for dinner today?”
He does stick around for dinner, although he doesn't actually eat much. Still, Cas sits at the table with Dean and Sam, listening with rapt attention to Sam's latest research find and smiling when Dean tips the leftovers off Cas's plate and onto his own.
Cas doesn't stay, and although Dean feels that pull, something that plucks inside whenever Cas departs, Dean doesn't ask him to either. He just walks Cas to the front door where he can disappear freely outside the building's warding.
These days, the farewells are just as random as the greetings.
Cas doesn't disappoint tonight, inclining his head and popping off with a, “Smoke me a kipper, I'll be back for breakfast.”
Dean's brows furrow, but Cas is gone before he can even start.
What the fuck is a kipper?
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He tries not to read into it, but Dean thinks Cas begins dropping by more frequently.
“What's kicking, little chicken?”
“Howdy-doody, tootie-fruitie!”
“Ahoy, matey.”
Most of them are silly, childish phrases, and Dean wonders what sort of videos Cas watches to pick up such language. Probably Sesame Street.
Others...
“Dean! How is your day going? Mine definitely just got better,” Cas praises, plopping into the booth next to him.
That one causes a tinge of pink to break out across the bridge of Dean's nose, clashing with his freckles, and he ducks his head before Sam notices. He pushes his half-finished cup of coffee in Cas's direction, hoping the beverage will occupy the angel's mouth long enough for Dean's feelings to chill the fuck out.
Cas stays long enough to finish the coffee and offer his opinion on their latest case (“Definitely not vampires,” as if they hadn't determined that much already), before he's standing and thanking Dean for sharing his drink. Sam smirks but Cas misses it, too busy watching Dean try to contain his growing blush.
“Take care, polar bear,” Cas bids, catching Dean's eye. Then he waves at Sam and slips out of the diner.
Closing his eyes, Dean runs one hand down the side of his face, pointing the other at Sam.
“Don't even think about saying anything.”
Sam's smirk curls into laughter.
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Sometimes, Cas's lines are so unexpected that Dean cannot be held accountable for his reactions.
Like when Cas arrives at the bunker just in time for movie night. He settles in between Sam and Dean on the couch with little more than, “Wassup, homies?” Sam merely cocks an eyebrow, but Dean chokes unattractively on his beer.
Or when Dean calls Cas to discuss a theory during a hunt Sam had initially claimed would be an easy salt and burn. The phone rings three times before Castiel picks up, answering with, “This call may be recorded for training purposes.” Dean lets out a bark of laughter, startling Sam and the two people he'd been interviewing. After agreeing that demonic possession is unlikely in this particular case, Cas hangs up with a casual, “I gotta bounce,” and Dean's laughter comes back twofold.
Then there are other times that leave Dean more confused, such as when Cas brings a collection of hexed Christmas ornaments over for Sam to lock away in a protected box. He dumps the tin container currently housing the dangerous trinkets into Sam's awaiting arms and marches across the library to where Dean relaxes in an armchair, watching episodes of Dr. Sexy, M.D. on his computer. Dean has only just tugged out his earbuds and grinned knowingly at the angel before Cas plants a gentle hand down onto Dean's laptop screen, closing the device. Raising his other hand into Dean's personal bubble, he forces the hunter to lean instinctively back. “There's my bae,” Cas all but croons. Then he boops, yes boops Dean on the nose with his index finger. Dean's brain must malfunction, because all he can manage is a high-pitched sort of wheeze. And Cas pulls away, returning to Sam's side and advising him on the best way to handle the cursed decorations. It's over so fast, Dean isn't quite sure it even happened at all. At least not until Cas bids them farewell, merely nodding at Sam. Then, eyes crinkling, Cas smiles at Dean and declares, “It's been a treat, parakeet.”
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“You know,” Sam says thoughtfully one evening after Cas has left following yet another strange salutation of, If I don't see you around, I'll see you square. Sam's tone can spell nothing good for Dean. “Cas only throws these one-liners at you.”
Dean tries to hide his irritation under nonchalance. “Meaning what, Sammy?” He fails, of course.
His brother hums, far too innocently. “Nothing, nothing. It's just...”
“Just what?” Dean snarls, not liking where this is headed.
“Maaaaybe Cas is trying to get your attention,” Sam suggests with a shrug, drawing out the words. Dean narrows his eyes, but his brother only whistles and grabs a water bottle before heading back to the library.
Dean stares at the countertop, frowning at the toaster oven sitting there.
“Why would Cas need to get my attention?” he mutters, scowling at the appliance as if it had personally offended him. And in Dean's defense, it has burned one too many slices of bread already.
He takes a beer from the fridge and stomps back to his room, trying not to let Sam's ideas rattle around in his mind.
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Dean formulates a plan. He acts on it the next time Cas swings by for an impromptu visit.
Sam is out for his morning run, and Dean is making breakfast, skillfully flipping pancakes over the griddle when Cas finally shows his face again. It's been a few days since his last appearance, unusual since he's been dropping in more often than not lately, but he isn't harried or injured, so Dean doesn't wait for an explanation.
Keeping his eyes mostly on the food, Dean raises one hand with a wave before Cas can start in with his latest, and Dean calls out cheerily, “What's buzzing, honeybee?”
Dean jumps at the loud THUD which follows this greeting, and he quickly abandons the pancakes in favor of looking over to see if Cas is okay.
The sound must have come from the pile of old books now scattered across the kitchen floor. Cas's hands are still aloft but loose from where they'd accidentally lost their grip. The angel is gaping at Dean with wide eyes, mouth hanging open comically, and Dean tries to hold it together, proud of himself for not outright laughing, though he is sure Cas can spot the amusement dancing across his expression. He flips another pancake before stepping away, inching close enough to Cas where he can reach out and nudge his fingertips under Cas's jaw, guiding his mouth closed.
“You'll catch flies that way,” Dean informs him cheekily.
Dean doesn't know what he expected would happen after enacting upon this rather ridiculous plan, which constituted of nothing more than Spit out a cheesy line before Cas does. He supposes Cas might laugh and call it a good game, because why else does the angel keep spouting nonsense day after day? Surely he is waiting for Dean to play along, as this is the only conclusion Dean had reached after thinking over Sam's words the other day.
Castiel, however, keeps finding new ways to surprise Dean.
He flinches away from Dean's light touch, colliding back into the dishwasher with flying speed. Cas's mouth opens and closes stupidly like a fish, and his face blooms into a flaming red flush, pretty and alluring and making Dean wonder what other parts of Cas are flushed, too. He hurriedly stamps down that train of thought, because, focus Dean. But he approaches too closely, and, like a scared deer, Cas flees the kitchen and bunker alike, front door slamming behind him.
Huh. Well.
That's new.
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And then, Castiel says things that leave Dean feeling like he missed something important.
It's been two weeks since Cas fled the bunker with nary a word, his only source of contact being short text messages sent to Sam's phone. Dean doesn't offer an explanation, and thankfully Sam chooses not to ask.
With his brother refusing to go on a grocery run until his current translation is finished, Dean is stuck searching the empty kitchen for something to eat when Castiel finally reappears. Dean would swear the angel pops out of nowhere, and since that is impossible with the bunker's warding, he must have crept into the place on tiptoes for Dean not to hear anything.
He finds himself trapped between an angel and a hard place.
After Cas pins him to the fridge with only a hushed, “Howdy, partner,” Dean can't find his words. They are stuck somewhere deep in his throat, and he swallows hastily before something unfiltered can escape.
Cas leans in further, body pressing against Dean's in a way that definitely does not make his pants suddenly feel tighter, and Dean sucks in a huge breath, hoping to put any amount of distance between himself and Castiel, who apparently still has yet to master the concept of personal space.
Dean dares not move when Cas's warm breath smothers his ear.
“Until next time... I'm off like a dirty shirt.”
And what the fuck is Dean supposed to say to that!?
But Cas is gone before Dean can collect himself, before he remembers how to breathe. Before he hurries off to the bathroom to resolve a problem that he's not entirely sure how he acquired, although it probably has somethin—everything—to do with the way Cas had said dirty and shirt and off in the same sentence, practically purring them with that gruff voice. Dean hasn't thought about it until now, but that is definitely a scene straight from one his late night fantasies.
Cas and cowboys...
He desperately hopes the shower is noisy enough to muffle any other sounds.
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Dean is slowly piecing things together. Cas's outrageous one liners, the long showers Dean has suddenly acquired, the intense staring contests the two of them have engaged in numerous times. But the bigger picture falls apart whenever Dean remembers how Cas had jerked away from his touch, how he'd run and avoided Dean for weeks.
That part, Dean does understand. No one ever stays; people have been running in the opposite direction for years. Dean has expected Castiel would, too, at some point in time. He's honestly surprised it has taken this long.
So while Dean is collecting pieces of something he's not quite ready to name, he has no idea what to do with them. Past experiences dictate that he should ignore them, sweep everything under the rug and pretend nothing ever happened, chalk up Cas's behavior as little more than an oddity. But that, he knows, would be a disservice to Cas. Castiel doesn't speak without meaning to, he wouldn't yank Dean's chain for kicks. These encounters, however frivolous they may seem, surely have merit to Cas.
Dean just has to figure out what that merit is.
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Ten lengthy and lonely days later, Cas returns to the bunker with a potential case lead.
He ignores Dean, speaking only to Sam, though Dean can feel those sharp blue eyes smiting a hole into the back of his head when he thinks Dean isn't paying attention. So not actually ignoring, just avoiding, then. This, Dean can work with. He knows about avoiding things. He understands embarrassment. Embarrassment is the reason Cas ran away last time. So he lets Cas keep up the charade, pretends to be oblivious to the angel and his brother so that Cas can feel more at ease, let his guard down. And when Sam and Cas are knee-deep in conversation about whether or not they should drive up to Madison, Wisconsin or if they want to call Jody (and personally Dean thinks that should be the decision since the case soundly relatively minor), Dean slinks away unnoticed. He doesn't need to be there; they aren't talking to him, and anyway, Sam will share the necessary details.
No, Dean sneaks off, up the stairs and out of sight, hiding in the shadows by the front door. He's not about to let Cas pop off so easily again.
Not after he has finally realized what Cas has been after this whole time. How had he not recognized it? Dean has been throwing down pick-up lines since he was an early teen. True, Cas's vocabulary might not be quite as... seductive as most, but it's still having the intended effects. Now that he's aware, Dean can practically see the sexual tension rolling off the angel in waves. And sex, well Dean knows all about that. Does he think this will screw up the friendship he and Cas currently have? Probably. Will he be depressed and moody afterward? Definitely. But this isn't about what Dean wants; this is about what Cas wants. Cas has done so much already for Dean, it's about time he gives something back.
And if Cas wants to let off a little sexual frustration, Dean is willing to take what he can get.
Shoulders lax with the apparent relief of having evaded Dean, Cas releases an undignified shriek when he finds the hunter leaning against the exit.
“You trying to leave without saying hello, Cas?” Dean drawls, only half-feigning the hurt in his tone. “And here I was getting used to your bizarre greetings.”
Cas squints and tilt his head, like he's not sure he heard Dean correctly. At last, he sighs and looks away.
“I thought you'd be more comfortable if I... stopped.”
And isn't that typical of Castiel, considering Dean's feelings before his own. It's actually rather sweet, but Dean fights back his blush. It won't do to falter now.
“Personally,” Dean informs him, leisurely approaching while still keeping himself between Castiel and the door, “I think you should finish what you started.”
Cas backs away with hesitation, seemingly in disbelief of Dean's words.
This time, Dean traps Cas against the wall with his hands.
“Come on, cutie pie,” Dean murmurs, delighting in the rosy color of Castiel's cheeks as he presses his hips against the angel's. Cas's labored breathing, the shy weight of his hand on Dean's shoulder, throws all of Dean's caution and dignity to the far corners of his mind.
“How about you show me your honey bunch of oats?”
And Cas's laugh is loud and inviting, spreading its warmth through Dean's rib cage. His fingers find Dean's jaw, thumb stroking the scruff fondly.
“That has to be the cheesiest line I've ever heard,” he states seriously, although Cas can't quite conceal the mirth behind his eyes.
Dean grunts, his breath mixing with Cas's as they once again crowd even further into each other's personal space. “This coming from the head cheeseball himself, Mr. I'm-Gonna-Make-Like-A-Bakery-Truck-And-Haul-Buns.”
“Yes,” Cas agrees, his lips brushing Dean's, “I suppose that's fair.” He draws back when Dean pushes closer, smirking when the hunter whines with need. Castiel's voice is low and demanding when he says, “Now how about you blow me a kiss, goldfish?”
Dean rolls his eyes, having something else in mind that Cas can blow, but that can come later, so he obliges Cas's request with pleasure. He cradles the back of Castiel's neck, drawing him in to slot their lips together sweetly. He feels the remaining tension of uncertainly leave Cas's frame as he yields to Dean's touch, tilting his head in that familiar way, only this time it's done, not out of puzzlement, but out of certainty, bettering the angle as his hands grip Dean's forearms, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.
Dean can only wonder how fucking long-overdue this has been, and why has he ignored these feelings all that time? He should have acted on this years ago. All those smoldering looks Cas has been sending his way since that first day in the barn... Cas is sitting on years of pent-up sexual frustration. Dean can feel it in the way he kisses, in how he licks his way past Dean's parted lips and into his welcoming mouth. Cas moans with satisfaction and sends Dean's blood rushing southward.
He removes his lips from Cas's, grinning when the angel tries to follow. “Hold your horses, cowboy,” he chuckles, though Cas is far from amused, rolling his hips against Dean and causing the man to choke and stutter. “J-Jesus, Cas! I'm just saying we might want to continue this somewhere else... where Sam won't be able to walk in.”
“Oh.” Castiel's voice is thick and rough, and Dean can't help grinding his hips at the sound of it. “Ah, no, you're... right, Dean.”
Those breathy moans make it extremely difficult for Dean to spend time moving elsewhere, but he eventually pries himself off of Cas, grabbing the angel's wrist and dragging him down the hall towards his bedroom. Well, it's not so much dragging as it is leading, since Cas proves just as eager as Dean. He shoves Dean against the wall next to the bedroom door.
Dean's protest of “Cas—!” cuts off when Castiel swallows the sound with his mouth, impatient and greedy. But if they don't slow down, Cas is going to crush them both flat against the wall. Pain is beginning to claw at Dean's back. So Dean's hands carefully tug Cas's face away from his, groaning when Cas sucks a spot of skin between his teeth, but he successfully separates them after another lengthy moment. Dean allows his hands to trail down, ghosting over Cas's throat to rest on the lapels of his jacket.
“This coat always looks so damn good on you,” he confides, enjoying the way Cas's eyes darken, following Dean's tongue as it swipes across his lower lip. “But you know what?” He sidesteps, reaching behind his back to fumble with the doorknob, one hand still gripping a fistful of coat as he hauls the angel into his room with a wicked grin.
“It would look even better on my floor.”
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Castiel's trench coat does end up on Dean's floor, discarded and forgotten with the rest of his clothes, Dean's too.
The angel doesn't need to nap, so Dean takes a moment to appreciate that Cas lingers here in bed with him. Dean's tired and sated, and he wants nothing more than to roll over and fall asleep next to Cas.
But he won't ask for that. He won't take more than what's been given.
So instead, he resolves to treat this as the best he'll ever have, as Cas has certainly ruined him for anyone else, now that feelings are involved. Dean will still go out for a lay to combat the loneliness, but he knows it will never be like this. Knows that no one could ever mean as much to him as Castiel, not romantically. And while Dean isn't ready to unpack all of his feelings and swap girly moments with Sam, he has finally found a label for the place where he's been collecting all of these pieces, all things Castiel.
This will be another piece he can tuck away once it's over.
“You should sleep,” Cas instructs, his blue stare unrelenting as Dean lazily traces the lines of his side.
He tries not to let his disappointment show, but Dean has always struggled to hide things from Cas. He knows Cas will see the way his lips turn and the slight worry lines that form above his brow.
“Dean, what's wrong?”
He sighs, fingers pausing in their rhythm to sink into the skin of Cas's hip.
“Nothing's... wrong.” Liar, his mind supplies.
“Everything's great.” Another lie.
“You were great.” There's the truth. Cas was too great, so great that Dean wants to do it again, and again, every day for however long he's allowed.
If only he was allowed.
“You weren't so bad yourself,” Cas admits with a smile. Dean hehs and curves his thumb around the bone.
His humor soon fades, however, as his mind returns to Cas's imminent departure. He wonders what line the angel will offer up tonight. Dean hopes it will be funny enough to distract him from the sight of Cas's retreating back.
Cas is still searching his face, waiting kindly for Dean to stop deflecting, to sort through his thoughts and gather a true response. It's one of the things he admires most about Cas, that after all they've been through and all that they've done to each other, he still looks at Dean as though he's deserving. Like Dean actually matters, like he hasn't completely fucked up. And Dean can only stare back. He's always only been able to stare back, not wanting to turn away from the intensity of Castiel's eyes. Sam enjoys joking about their strange 'eye-fucks', but Dean knows it's more than that. Cas watches Dean with a measure like no one else, and Dean can't bring himself to look away from the warmth behind these gazes.
They, too, are collected and hidden away with the rest.
“I...” His voice comes out in a scratch.
It's not supposed to hurt this much. It always ends this way.
Then again, it's never been Castiel.
He tries to smile at Cas, but Dean feels it withering.
“I guess, I'm just waiting...”
And Cas is patient, not recoiling in the slightest when Dean's fingers press hard enough to bruise.
“For what, Dean?”
The kindness in that question breaks the pieces Dean has been holding together, and they come out in one hushed, quick breath.
“For you to leave.”
Cas is quiet after this. His face pales, eyes darting away, but the sheets are being pulled back and Cas is rising from the bed before Dean can finish deciphering the expression. He feels Cas's skin recede from his hold, and Dean sits up anxiously as Cas picks his clothing from the floor.
Dean didn't mean to upset him. “I'm sorry,” he offers weakly.
“You have nothing to feel sorry for, Dean,” Castiel responds, throwing on his boxers and buttoning up his shirt, and Dean is sure it says something that Cas is choosing to this the human way rather than mojo his clothes back on. Cas drapes the tie around his neck but doesn't bother knotting it.
“I should have expected this,” he acknowledges apologetically. “It was my mistake.”
Dean's mouth dries.
“What—you... you think this was a mistake?”
He did not want his voice to sound that high, but Dean's almost beyond the point of caring.
Hadn't Cas just agreed the sex was great, and now... he was regretting it? He supposes technically Cas had said you weren't so bad, and maybe he'd meant it literally, that Dean was only subpar. It can be hard to tell sometimes with that deadpan tone.
Castiel slowly steps into his pants, his hands stalling along the zipper.
“It was my mistake to hope—” He shuts up and finishes buckling his belt. “I should have remembered you don't like it when I watch you sleep.”
“NO!” Dean blurts, lifting a hand to latch on to Castiel's arm but thinks better of it. He runs the hand through his hair instead as Cas ogles him curiously after the outburst. “That's not... I didn't mean...” Dean sighs heavily. “I don't mind it so much. Not anymore.”
“Oh.”
Cas says nothing else for a while, and Dean is too embarrassed to meet his eyes so he just keeps his gaze focused on the rumpled bedsheets.
Then cautiously, “Do you still want me to leave?”
Dean glances up at that, meeting Cas's careful expression with his own bewildered one.
“I never wanted you to leave,” he corrects, licking his lips with apprehension.
“But you said... you were waiting for me to leave.”
“Yeah, I was waiting for you to quote one of your weird farewells before disappearing.”
Head tilted, Castiel squints. “Why?”
Heat crawls up the back of Dean's neck, and his cheeks flare under Cas's scrutiny.
“Because you always do.”
For almost a minute, Dean swears it's so quiet that Cas must have found a way to break the wards and fly directly out of the room. Closing his eyes, Dean reminds himself that everything is fine. He knew this would happen. Sure, he didn't expected it to cut so deeply, but since when did he and Cas ever inflict anything less than major scars upon each other? They have, as Cas had once called it, a profound bond. Nothing between them has ever been trivial.
There's a sizable dip in the mattress, and Dean's head jerks up to find Castiel tentatively sitting next to him, a bittersweet smile pressed into the corners of his mouth.
“Dean,” he says, and Dean shudders at the implications behind that one word, his name, how Cas always speaks Dean's name with such reverence. A warm hand slips under the covers to find Dean's thigh, the other pressing a thumb against Dean's lips.
“Do you want me to leave?” Cas challenges effortlessly, like he'll slip away and never mention this again if that's what Dean wishes.
Dean takes the hand caressing his face and guides it around, pressing a kiss to Castiel's palm.
“No, I don't want you to leave.” He clasps Cas's hand between both of his, lowering it between them. “Cas, I...”
And Castiel is already closing in, his breath tickling Dean's eyelashes.
“I want you to stay.”
Lips kiss his forehead, his nose, his cheeks. Cas pauses long enough to hold another intense stare, but then he's continuing on, leaving a kiss on the curve of Dean's jaw and in the hollow of his throat.
“Okay.”
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They don't get out of bed until Dean finally drags himself to the bathroom for a nature call the following morning. He brushes his teeth and combs his hair, freshening up a bit before returning to his bedroom. Cas has actually managed to fall asleep, and although Dean wants to joke about the angel being worn-out from their after-hour activities, it's more likely Cas chose to sleep simply because Dean did, wanting to remain snuggled against him. He watches Cas fondly, deciding it's not at all creepy. He stands there, leaning against the door frame with a smile on his face that Sam would surely label as lovesick, for an unknown amount of time; it could have been two or seven minutes, Dean can't tell the difference. It's only when his stomach rumbles that Dean tears his attention away from Cas and quietly closes the door, more out of respect for Cas's privacy than any sort of panic he might have upon Sam discovering Cas in his bed. He'll cross that bridge when he gets to it.
Dean is almost done cooking breakfast when Cas finally wakes and emerges from the bedroom, trudging into the kitchen with a yawn. He's sporting a pair of sweatpants and Dean's nightshirt, and damn if that isn't hot. Thankfully, Sam doesn't notice, sitting at the table and poking at the suspicious omelet his brother had scrounged up, although he does peer at the angel with concern.
“Are you... tired?” Sam inquires incredulously.
Cas blinks the remaining sleep away, coming to stand behind Dean at the stove and look over his shoulder. “No, I'm actually very well-rested, but thank you for asking, Sam.”
To Dean, he quips, “What's shaking, eggs and bacon?”
Dean snorts at the greeting but chooses to interpret it literally. “Yes, we've got eggs, bacon, waffles, sausages... If you want toast, get it yourself but don't expect the damn machine to cooperate.” He jerks his elbow in the direction of the coffee maker. “Hey, there's a fresh pot if you want some.”
Humming gratefully, Cas wanders over and pours himself a generous cup. Dean smirks; maybe Cas is more worn-out than he would have guessed.
He expects Cas to join Sam at the table, but the angel merely takes a sip of his piping hot drink before scooting back into Dean's personal space, resting his chin on Dean's shoulder. Dean forces himself to ignore the urge to turn around and flip Sam off for whatever mushy face he's making.
“What are those?” Cas asks, eyeing the small pan on the back left burner.
Dean grins. “Kippers,” he announces proudly.
Behind him, Sam chokes out a noise of disgust. “I knew something was wrong with this omelet! You put fish in it, didn't you!?” Dean ignores his brother, though he does hear Sam gag and leave the room muttering about one too many pranks.
Turning his head marginally, Dean finds Cas staring intently at the pan of herring. If the angel wasn't resting his chin against Dean, he imagines Cas would have his head cocked in that adorably befuddled manner.
“You don't normally eat fish for breakfast,” Cas comments. Then, thoughtfully, he amends, “You don't normally eat fish at all.” He meets Dean's playful look. “Why now?”
“They're kippers, Cas,” he responds with a wink. “Or do you not remember?”
Castiel remains mildly confused, although his lips quirk up at Dean's unusually lively mood.
“'Smoke me a kipper, I'll be back for breakfast,'” Dean quotes, pitching his voice lower to match Castiel's gravel.
The angel sends him a smoldering look. “I do not sound like that.”
“Pretty sure you sounded exactly like that last night, honeybee,” Dean teases, the endearment rolling easily off his tongue.
He bumps his hip against Cas's, and the angel's anger fades. Still, Cas keeps the smoldering heat behind his eyes as he leans closer, tilting his head up to capture Dean's lips in a chaste kiss. He pulls away before Dean can properly respond.
“You're not sticking around for breakfast?” Dean questions, hoping Cas doesn't hear the ache behind it.
“No, I have a couple of things to do.” Cas steals a slice of bacon from the frying pan and pops it into his mouth. “Interesting, the molecules taste slightly different at this temperature.”
“Dude,” Dean admonishes, shoving the hurt back where it came from before Cas can notice, “my mouth burns just watching you. Ouch.”
But Cas just sees right through him, as always.
“Oh, Dean,” Cas murmurs, “I told you'd I stay, remember? I just have to take care of a few things first, that's all.”
He does not break out into a flush. But, he can't deny the swooping sensation of his stomach or the relief that pours through him. “Ah, yeah, right... of course! So, uh, I'll see you later?”
Cas grins. “After a while, crocodile.”
Laughing, Dean reigns him back in for another kiss. “Calc you later,” he promises against Castiel's mouth.
“I gotta go, buffalo.”
“See you soon, little raccoon.”
“Dean,” Cas huffs, melting into Dean's touch as he kisses his way down. “I do not resemble the large Procyon–” Dean shuts him up with a suck to his clavicle before pulling away with a wet and sloppy pop.
“All right, go on and scoot, you little newt,” Dean chastises, flicking Castiel's ass with a dishtowel.
Cas grants him one last heated kiss, something that promises they will finish this later, and then he's heading for the entrance.
“Love, peace, and chicken grease,” Cas salutes affectionately, and then he's gone.
Dean shakes his head with silent laughter. He waits until he hears the front door close, and then he makes a plate to keep warm in the oven for Cas.
“Love you, too, you dork,” he admits aloud to the empty room.
One day, maybe soon, maybe tonight, he'll tell Castiel. Tell him how much he loves and appreciates him. But for now, he will wait until Cas comes back, comes back to stay, and Dean prays Cas will greet him with another ridiculous substitute for Hello, Dean.
🐝🍯🐝🍯🐝🍯🐝🍯🐝🍯🐝
"We are honey and the bee."